


The Dragon and The Golden Boy

by Mel_eficent



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fluff, Jean's the knight by the way, Just Happy Fairy Tale Stuff, M/M, No Angst, Very Very Long Build Up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-03-09 20:09:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3262805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mel_eficent/pseuds/Mel_eficent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once Upon A Time, before all the regions of the land were given names and borders, when the land was still rife with a great many mystical, mythical, and magical things, in an unremarkable, immemorable, and utterly ordinary town, there lived a very remarkable, memorable, and utterly extraordinary boy. <br/>And his name, was Armin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I - An Unlikely Hero

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BevyBee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BevyBee/gifts).



> I'm not quite as confident with this style as I am with the Pirate fics I've written (and I'm going to write more of those, don't worry) so please let me know what you think of it here or over at eremine on tumblr.com  
> Also, this fic is an early birthday present to my friend BevyBee, Happy Birthday!

Once Upon A Time, before all the regions of the land were given names and borders, when the land was still rife with a great many mystical, mythical, and magical things, there was a town. There was nothing altogether too special about this town; with it’s average little roads and average little houses filled with average little people living average little lives. Indeed, to all those who passed through it, it appeared to them as unremarkable, immemorable, and utterly ordinary. But there was something special about this town, something known only to its inhabitants; for in this unremarkable, immemorable, and utterly ordinary town, there lived a very remarkable, memorable, and utterly extraordinary boy. And his name, was Armin.

Everyone in town new Armin by sight, and often remarked that their days were made all the better when the young lad skipped through them. It had been said about that boy on more than one occasion, that it was almost as if a drop of the purest sunlight had fallen from the heavens, landed in their provincial town, and grown into the happiest, kindest, and sweetest young boy that any of them had ever met. For like the sun, Armin hair was as yellow and bright as the midday sky, his eyes shone like beams of light through the clouds, and his smiled gleamed like the first rays of dawn. With a spring in his step, a laugh on his lips, and song in his heart, Armin spent his days traipsing about the town as fawn would frolic through a field. All the townsfolk loved and cherished him, for he, like the sun, brought light and warmth to their lives.

And that was how the town carried on, day in and day out, no one had any adventures or did anything unexpected, and everything was unremarkable, immemorable, and utterly ordinary. Until one day, when everything changed. The day, when the great calamity fell upon them.

It started with a great wind; it rushed down from hills and through the valley, the oaks and elms creaking and groaning as they shook. Then all the animals seemed to sense the oncoming danger, as animals are oft to do, and all became distressed and tried to flee. And then at last it came; the great shadow that seemed to blot out the sun, and the horrifying sound of beating, leathery wings. A Dragon.

He descended from the clouds with the mightiest roar, a roar that shattered windows and shook bric-a-brac from tables and cupboards. Men and women ran screaming as he glided over the hills, maw opened and great fangs bared. Like a great wave he swept over the fields and farmlands, and with another screech, set them all aflame. Again and again, the monster would rise into the clouds before banking and coming back down, blasting great tongues of fire each time. Once the thatched roof cottages and buildings of the village had been set alight, and the fields and green meadows blacked and left barren, the ferocious beast turned his fury on the livestock. Mighty is a Dragon’s hunger, and mightier still is the hunger of one growing into maturity. He wolfed down the sheep and gobbled up the pigs, he munched down the chickens and gorged on the cows, he slurped up the horses and swallowed the donkeys whole. He made a feast of the townspeople’s livelihood, and when even that would not satisfy him, he made a feast of what few townspeople he could get his hands on.

At last, after hours of burning houses and chasing down screaming villagers, the great beast found his hunger and bloodlust sated. He turned his scaley, wyrmlike body away to take to the skies once more, but as he did he spotted something, a familiar glint in the corner of his eye. Gold. With an immense hand, he reached out and plucked a chest of gold coins from one of the burning houses, jewels and jewellery from another, fine encrusted goblets and circlets wreathed in pearls from another. He burgled the cottages, looted the manors, pillaged the markets, and plundered whatever else he could find. With gold and finery to add to his growing horde, the Dragon clutched his stolen spoils tightly in his cold talons, and finally flew off back to his faraway mountain, leaving the town utterly destroyed.

That night, what few remaining townsfolk gathered in the square, for many no longer had homes to return to, and talked in frightened voices of what must now be done. The only trouble was that no one knew what ‘what must be done’ was. And so the townsfolk, utterly ill equipped to handle such catastrophe with their average little town and average little lives, did nothing more but stand around and bicker. The millers moaned and the weavers wailed, the bakers blubbered and the butchers balled, and no one had any idea what to do.

It was then that the townsfolk were come upon by a traveler, an upstart knight from the nearby castle. He was young and charming, boastful of his meagre achievements, and had grown up on the tales of the chivalry, valour, and heroics of knights. He had set out in the world to perform daring feats and inspire tales of his own. “Good peasants” said he, not deigning to dismount from his perch atop the great black destrier he mounted, “what manner of ailment has fallen upon your town? Come, tell me troubles so that I might relieve you of them!”

“Kind ser Knight,” said the miller, “Our little town has been destroyed, our homes burned to the ground!”

“It was a Dragon that did it!” yelled the weaver, “He came down from the mountain and torched all the fields and farmlands!”

“And ate all our livestock!” the baker chimed in.

“And took all our gold!” added the butcher, “Please ser, will you help us?”

A selfish smile spread across the young knight’s lips, thinking that at last, he had found his chance to be immortalised by the bards, then it fell away as he feigned concern. “Oh simple farmers, oh gentle plebeians, your tale of woe has moved me, I shall be your gracious champion! I shall ride forth from this place to the Dragon’s lair atop the faraway mountain and slay him in his den! By this selfless act of heroism, your troubles shall be ended!”

And a great cry went up amongst the townspeople, for while they agreed it was not the greatest of plans nor would it truly bring an end to their plight, they could think of no better way to bring back the homes and goods they had lost. Every man and woman gathered on the green cheered and hurrahed, and a chant of ‘ended! ended! our troubles shall be ended!’ sprung up until all had joined in. All, that is, except for Armin.

Struggling for his voice to be heard among the jeers, he pushed his way to the front of crowd and climbed atop the remains of the destroyed podium that once sat in the square. “WAIT!” he cried, and at last silence fell upon the crowd of happy villagers, all eager to listen to what the young lad had to say. “Surely there is a better way! Why must we kill the Dragon? And if we did, what would that accomplish? Killing the Dragon will not bring back our homes, nor will it bring back our fields or the things that were taken from us!”

“Oh?” Said the knight mockingly, not taking the young boy seriously, “And I suppose you have a better idea do you boy?”

“Yes,” Armin said proudly, puffing out his chest and spreading his feet, as he always did when he felt he was going to say something important, “I will go to the Dragon’s lair myself, convince him to stop his burning and plundering, and ask him to give back all the things he stole from us!”

“You? _Convince_ the Dragon?” At this, the young knight began to laugh so hard he nearly fell off his horse, “You’re just a child! A scrawny little boy! That is the worst idea I’ve ever heard!” He shouted, and when he was done he continued to below and chuckle. The knight was shocked to find however, that he was alone in his guffawing. The rest of the town lay quiet, pondering what was said, rubbing their chins and scratching their heads.

“I don’t know Armin,” the blacksmith said, “you _are_ just a boy, and the Dragon may just as quickly eat you as listen to you.”

“No he won’t!” Armin proclaimed in confidence, “I have golden hair, see? When the Dragon sees me, he’ll think my thoughts are valuable because my hair is just like everything he stole! That way, he’ll have to listen to me!”

A hum spread across the crowd, as they accepted the golden boy’s reasoning, many began to nod slowly or say what a good idea it was to their neighbour. “Alright Armin,” said the mayor, “Your plan seems to be a most excellent one! You shall be the one to save the town!”

“HURRAH!” The Villagers cried, and again began to chant ‘ended! ended! our troubles shall be ended!’. The only one who did not join in the revelry was the young knight, his laughter and disbelief had turned to bitter anger and his face was contorted in a foul sneer.

“Idiot boy!” He yelled, venom dripping from his words, “You shan’t rob me of my moment of glory so easily! I shall ride forth from here to my lord and master, and together we shall marshal a great army and march to the Dragon’s lair! If you have not succeeded in your foolhardy quest in three days time, then the Dragon shalt fall upon my blade!”

The knight kicked his spurs into his destrier’s side and galloped off the way he came, dust billowing in his wake, but the crowd was unperturbed. At once, Armin skipped back to the home he shared with his Grandfather, thankfully one of the few buildings that wasn’t harmed in the fire, and began to pack his things. As he made his way out of town the next morning, green travelling cloak over his shoulders and walking stick in hand, the townsfolk came to see him off.

“Be safe Armin!” cried the Baker’s wife, handing him a few loaves of bread, “It’s a long way to the faraway mountain, so these should see you through the journey.”

“Thank you Missus Baker!” He replied, gratefully taking the gift she had offered him.

“Here you are Armin!” said the Piper, presenting the golden boy with one of his instruments, “They say that music soothes the savage beast so maybe my flute will help to convince him!”

“Oh my!” Armin gasped, “This is a fine gift, thank you!”

On the edge of town, the last of the well wishers was Armin’s own grandfather. “I don’t know if I approve of you doing this little man,” his Grandfather said, “But if anyone in this town could do it, it’s you. Take this with you,” he handed his grandson a torch, “It’s a magic lantern my father gave to me, no water will quench it nor will any wind snuff it out, for its light is pure and beloved. If ever you feel lost, alone, or afraid, all you need say is ‘light the way’ and it shall guide you.”

Armin smiled, holding the lantern in his small hands “Thank you Grandfather, I’ll be sure to use it well!”

And so, with a spring in his step, a laugh on his lips, and a song in his heart, Armin waved goodbye to the people of his unremarkable, immemorable, and utterly ordinary town, and set off on a journey that was quite remarkable, memorable, and utterly extraordinary indeed.


	2. Part II - The Woodland's Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh, remember when I said this was gonna be three chapters? Well yeah, I don't know how to be concise or consistent so there's gonna be 5 instead, and they may vary in length. This is also means, I'm sad to admit, that Eremin won't happen until very late in the story, but I hop you can bare with it as I'm actually quite proud of this fic.

As the bright young lad made his way out into the world, following the road as it meandered through valleys and over meadows, a smile was brought to his face. It was the first time in his young years that Armin had ever gone more than half an hour’s walk from the village, and where others his age, or even older, would be frightened by going so far, Armin was unphased, his usual confident and beaming self. So happy was he in fact, that as the vast and rolling green hills and fields around him began to give way to the pockets of trees and rivers of the lowlands, he began to sing.

_“Down the hill and through the glen,_

_To seek the Dragon in it’s den,_

_I don’t know what I’ll find ‘til then,_

_But soon I’ll be off back home again!”_

The golden boy loved to sing, and he sang often. Many said that his voice, like so much about him, was as soft and warm as the light of the sun and none could hear it without a smile being brought to their face. Feeling the warmth of the sun on his face and the wind on his back, pushing him on, he continued on with his merry tune.

_“Thank the moon and thank the sun,_

_Thank the wind that helps me run,_

_It’s thanks to you the world is spun,_

_It’s thanks to you my journey’s fun!”_

It was midday when he came across a fork in the road, just before a ford in the river. One path split off, running adjacent to the placid waters upstream, but that road lead up to the snowy hinterlands of the north, home of hill tribesmen and goblins and giants. Another path flowed down the river as it tripped and stumbled over stones, but that road lead to the great bay of the south, home to the many harbour towns and fishermen. That left only one path for Armin to take, the Winding Road that lead over the ford and through the wood. It was not a path frequented by many travelers, as many believed the forest to be alive, and that it would play tricks on the mind’s of passers through, making them lose their way and trapping them in the forest forever. It was also home to the elves, and they did not look kindly on outsiders. Such superstitions were not known to Armin however, and without a second thought, he passed through the wooded gate, two leaning elms with their branches intertwined, and ventured deep into the wood.

It was not long before the young boy felt that he was not alone amongst the trees, feeling as if he was being watched by suspicious eyes. Something was very strange about this forest; there were no sounds of birds or other creatures, only the the soft whistling of the wind, and  shadows began to dance in the corners of the his eyes, gone as soon as he turned his head.

“Halt outsider!” Came a voice from the wood, deep and authoritative, though Armin did not quite know where, “What business have you in the Wended Wood?”

He could see nothing, but heard the unmistakable sound of the string of a bow being pulled taught. And yet, he was unafraid.

“Where are you?” he asked innocently, “You must be very skilled to hide yourself so well, but you need not fear me, I only wish to pass through this forest. My business is on its other side good ser elf.”

“Elf?” Came another voice, softer and more haughty than the previous one, “You claim to know us? How can you so confidently say that we are _elves_ when you cannot see us, boy?”

“Us? Afraid of You? HA!” a third voice sounded, this one cold and accusatory, but unmistakably belonging to a woman, “It is you who should fear _us_ , boy!”

“You are trying to protect the wood are you not?” Armin asked sincerely, “I’ve read about the elves, how the blend in with the trees and travel through the canopy nigh undetected, and I read that you are the shepherds and protectors of the forest.” When silence greeted him, Armin smiled triumphantly, but not vainly, “I know I have no need to fear you because I wish no harm to the wood. Please come out, there is no need for all this clandestinity.”

The soft voice and the cold voice began to snap and threaten as they did before, but soon they were cut short by their imposing companion. “Hush now!” he commanded, “The halfling has proven himself to be a wise sort, let us not be uncivilised.”

On branches high in the trees, the shadows began to melt away to reveal three tall, elegant figures, each brandished ironwood bows and were adorned in brown and green as if cloaked in the forest itself. With a few effortless and graceful steps, the elves descended down the trunks to the forest floor, standing before the golden boy.

“Salutations visitor,” spoke the elf with the deep voice, standing as tall and broad as a grand old oak, cornsilk hair cropped short, “We are _elvhen_ , and we would ask again to know you speak the truth: Do you wish this forest no harm?”

“Choose your words closely halfling,” came the quiet words from the soft spoken elf, hair as rich and brown as the forest soil and towering even higher than his friend, “If your answer does not find its target, are arrows shall find ours.” The third elf said nothing; she was much shorter than the other two, and shared Armin’s enormous blue eyes, but where his eyes were bright and gleaming like sapphires, the she-elf’s were cold and hard like ice.

Armin pondered long and hard on how he should respond. After a moment, a smile was brought to his lips. He parted them and began to sing.

_“See the light shine through the trees,_

_And colourful flowers filled with bees,_

_and on the air a sweet sea breeze,_

_Ne’er have I seen such things as these!”_

The elves widened their eyes in shock, speechless. To them, it was as if a great weight had been lifted from their shoulders, everything becoming lighter and relaxed. “That… that heavenly sound,” said the she-elf, “It was… singing?”

“Yes!” Armin beamed at them, seeing how much friendlier they looked upon him, “I love to sing, music can be a cure to even the worst of ailments.”

The elves glanced between each other, sharing a silent conversation, before turning back to their much smaller charge. “Your heart seems true traveler,” said the broad elf, “But it is our King who must decide your fate, come.”

And so Armin was lead deeper into the Wending Wood. Onward and onward they marched for what felt like hours as they drew closer and closer to the heart of the forest. As they walked noon became afternoon, and afternoon became evening; the sky turning from blue to purple to pink. As they grew closer, Armin began to notice how wrong he was at first, for the forest was not desolate at all, but was teeming with life. Trees began to slothfully turn their heads, following them with sleepy, doe eyes and giving waves from weary, tree-like hands. Sylvans and Spriggans glided through the trunks, not giving them any attention, while nymphs and naiads watched timidly, diving for cover when spotted or shrieking and fleeing when a faun appeared to chase them, and wisps, sprites, sylphs, and all manor of faeries filled the air, laughing and calling to them playfully.

When the light had all but gone from the sky, they arrived at the hall of the Elven-King. The wood parted in a large clearing; and inside, a cool babbling brook rimmed a small island of soft green grass. From its center rose a great tree, the tallest and largest and widest the young lad had ever seen. Its roots started above the ground, coiling and curling around stones to form a small stair to the tree’s base, which resembled an ornate throne. Armin would assume that it was carved, if he did not know that the elves would sooner bring a blade upon themselves than a living tree. From there it grew up as a straight long trunk for yards and yards, before extending out into branches and from branches to leaves and flowers; its blossoms seemed to twinkle and glow pink and blue and white, shining like stars.

“ _Ar-ahn_ ,” said the broad elf, he and his companions kneeling before the throne, “We found a halfling boy on the Winding Road, we thought it best that you speak with him.”

It was then Armin noticed the tall figure sitting on throne. The Elven-King, like Armin’s elven escorts, seemed to wrap himself in a cloak made from the forest, a flowing robe in all the colours of autumn. Atop his golden head sat a crown, woven with twigs and leaves, that extended out past his shoulders in a pair of great antlers. He seemed to embody both the light and dark sides of his woodland realm; elegant and ruthless, graceful and strong, beautiful and deadly. He regarded the golden boy with a look of curiosity laced with suspicion. “Then speak with him I shall.” He decreed at last in booming yet not unkind voice.

Armin rose from where kneeled and approach the Oaken-Throne, stopping once he reached the foot of the stair. “Hm, a halfling indeed. Tell me _Perian_ , what is it about you that my watchers found important enough to warrant an audience with the Elven-King?”

He raised a dark eyebrow quizzically. Armin, not missing a beat, began his song once more

_“Through the woods my path has lead,_

_From yonder village I have tread,_

_My journey’s end lies far ahead,”_ But stopped before the last line to let out a yawn, as a full day’s travelling had left him quite fatigued, _“Soon may I please be off to bed?”_

Just as it had with the elves from the road, something flashed in the Elven-King’s eyes. Quickly, he rose from his throne and gracefully strode down the steps; bare feet and toes burying themselves in the grass, small flowers blossoming from every print he left. “A great sickness lies on this forest,” he announced, “A sickness… of sorrow… The Wended Wood has fallen into despair, and all who dwell within it become poisoned. I can protect what few spirits dwell here in the heart… but it is not enough.” The King of the Wended Wood turned back to face Armin, eyes boring into him, “Your music is the first time I’ve felt the sickness’ power… wain.”

Others have said that the look of the Elven-King is strong enough to turn your bones to jelly, or your skin to ice, or your voice to disappear, and maybe others would have crumbled under his intense gaze, but not Armin. He merely smiled once more, and continued to sing.

_“Music fills the heart with joy,_

_Sees sadness go, sorrow destroy,_

_And while I know I’m just a boy,_

_To give to all’s what I enjoy!”_

Once again the king glided back to the Oaken-Throne and sat, “If your music can break the savage curse upon my kingdom, than I will give you leave to travel through the wood.”

All was quiet as the young lad began to ponder what he might do next, and then, it came to him. _“They say that music soothes the savage beast…”_ That’s it! That’s what the Piper had told him when he gave him the flute! He smiled a great, gleaming smile, and pulled the flute from his pack. Softly at first, but slowly growing louder, he began to play. The first simple notes shattered the silence that had fallen, the notes that followed began to dance back and forth and around each other, each sound bolder than the last, until finally Armin’s sweet notes started to weave a beautiful melody.

A crowd of faeries had gathered to watch, drawn in by the intoxicating music, and soon many began to add to the piece themselves. The trees formed a steady beat from the slow and heavy steps they took, the nymphs and naiads added rhythm with a the lapping of the water, the sylvans and spriggans provided the winds, controlling the breeze flowing through the branches, the wisps and sprites coupled together and sang chords, and fauns and elves played complementary melodies on their pan pipes and harps.

Soon, the entire forest rang with a sound of a symphony as one by one every pixie, sylph, and faerie had joined the orchestra with Armin at it’s center. Its sound spread out from the heart of the wood, banishing the darkness, until it reached every outmost tree. As the shadows recceeded, light took its place; the luminous blossoms of the King’s Tree began to bloom all over the forest until it was bathed in the light of the heavens.

For the first time in the longest time, the Elven-King smiled. “What is your name wanderer?”

“Armin!” the golden boy replied, chest puffed out and hands on his hips, “Armin Arlert your Majesty!”

The king of the wood stretched out his hand, “Then from this day forth Armin Arlert, I name you _Anor-Galad_ , Light of the Sun, and friend of the _Elvhen_! Always shall you be welcome in my halls. _Dareth Shiral_ , go from this place in peace.”

Armin turned to leave, but just before he did he stopped, and handed his golden flute to the broad elf who had brought him here. “Here,” he said, “I believe you and yours need this more than I.”

The broad elf smiled gratefully, and bowed his head in thanks as he accepted the gift. “Thank you, Elf-friend.”

With trees full of stars, the wood full of music, and his business concluded, Armin found the path, and made his way out of the forrest.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so so so so much for reaching! If you want to give a comment you can do so bellow or you can message me at eremine.tumblr.com, please do, I live for your comments! The next chapter should be up in 3 days/around Feb 13th, stay tuned!


	3. Part III - The River Crossing

As Armin passed through the eastern wooded gate on the far side of the forest, the first rays of dawn began to light up the sky. The night-curtain of the sky was rolled back and the light of the stars faded as all the world came in focus, touched by the sun. Armin loved this time of day, for every time he saw the sunrise he felt a sense of anticipation, hope, excitement. A new day has begun, light shines upon a new world, and who knows what great things are in store for it? He hoped that what was in store for him, was another step closer to his journey’s end.

And then he saw it, there on the horizon; a silhouette, backlit by the blazing sun, the Faraway Mountain. There it stood, proud, solitary, defiant, like a monument to some lost hero, meeting destiny with his head held high, but alone. From the valley where Armin stood now, the ground slowly and surely began to rise; up and up and up it climbed, higher and higher until it came to the mountain, where the land shot up, reaching like an outstretched arm trying in vain to touch the clouds. From it’s peak coiled a plume of thick black smoke, twisting as it rose up into the sky, Dragonfire.

Such a sight would have made many others turn and flee, to quiver in fear and abandon all hope of success, but not Armin. The young lad simply took a deep breath, puffed out his chest, and walked triumphantly down into the valley. The sun was well and truly shining when he reached the center, standing on the bank of a river too wide to jump, too deep to cross, a roaring current too strong swim through. He followed it downriver a ways, hoping to find a bridge or somewhere where the banks weren’t so far or the current wasn’t as strong, but he found no such place. The river stretched far south, mostly likely feeding into the great southern bay where it would take days to cross.

Armin thought himself out of luck, when from up river, he saw a most peculiar sight. Coming down from the north, somehow staying afloat amidst the thrashing current, was a lone, slender gondola, easing its way slowly down the river. As it came closer, the young lad could make out a figure through the mist, steadily raising a great oar from the waters before striking it back and down and pushing off again. When he came close enough to notice Armin he stopped, studying him with cold, beady eyes. He was strong of build, but quite short of stature; his raven hair cropped short on the underside of his head, and his face looked as if he had smelled something foul.

“Ho there ser boatman,” said the golden boy, upon finding that the gondolier was not likely to make conversation, “Can you tell me how far to the nearest bridge?”

“There are no bridges on the East River, no fords either.” His reply was short and sharp, laced with disinterest.

“Than can you tell me how to get across?”

“There’s not crossings to be had these days, nothing east of here worth travelling to, especially not for little boys so far from home.” The boatman’s voice was deep, unusually so for a man his size, and twice as bitter.

“And what makes you think I’m far from home?” Said Armin, eyebrow raised, humming almost cheekily.

The boatman scoffed, “You’re not a riverman, or a dwarf, and there’s not another town for a hundred miles.” With a great shove, he pushed off once again and began slowly paddling down the river, “Head on home little boy, there’s nothing for you further east.”

“There’s the Faraway Mountain,” the young lad replied sincerely, “I go to seek to the Dragon and take back the things he stole from my village.”

“Ha!” the raven-haired man barked, amused, “And just how will you do that, boy? Slay it? Smite it’s unholy hide upon the barren highlands?”

“No,” Armin said, puffing out his chest and putting his hands on his fists, “I’m going to talk to him and convince him to give them back! I don’t quite know how yet, but I’ll find a way!”

At this the boatman began to chuckle, but as he turned his head and his eyes fell upon the youngster’s face, his laughed died upon his lips. He stopped the gondola and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the top of his oar, studying Armin intently. “You know,” he almost whispered after a moment of contemplation, “There’s something about you that makes me believe you can do it.” He sighed in resignation, then with a wave of his hand he gestured for the golden boy to come aboard. “Alright lad,” he groaned, “I’ll give you safe passage.”

Armin’s eyes grew as wide as saucers and his lips formed an enormous grin, “Thank you sir!” he exclaimed, excitedly stepping into the boat amidst crates and barrels.

The boatman groaned again, “Yes yes, now hurry up, and mind the barrels! Knock one of those into the drink and I’ll have your hide!”

“Will you really take me all the way to the mountain?” the child asked with fervent excitement.

“Goodness no!” Came the gondolier’s fast reply, “I wouldn’t set foot within a mile of that accursed place! No, but I’ll take you where you can find someone brave enough or mad enough who will.”

“And where might that be?” Armin asked, settling into a spot between two barrels near the bow of the tiny vessel.

“Forkton” was all the reply he received.

No more exchanging of words was had on their surprisingly smooth journey through the rapids of the great river. True to the boatman’s word, the waters showed no signs of relenting; the banks of the river stayed wide, the current stayed strong, and there were no bridges, fords, or crossings of any kind. As he sat in the base of the gondola, Armin watched as the now radiant trees of the Wending Wood began to subside. Off in the distance, he could almost make out the blue of the West River he crossed yesterday, slowly edging its way closer to them.

It was noon when he finally saw it, a few hundred yards ahead. To his right, the waters of the West River finally and lazily flowed into the East; current dissipating as if it were exhausted, like a farmer coming home from working in the fields after a hot summer day. To his left, the young lad could see the deep blue waters of the Sapphire River rushing down the highlands and crashing into the fork, like a child waking up on Midwinter’s Day and barrelling into their parents’ room. From here, the three great rivers of the land became one, and fed the great bay of the south. From here, if a man had the means and the desire, he could make his way to all the far corners of the kingdoms. From here, there was a momentary lull in the current, and the pooled waters became calm and smooth and clear. Here, was Forkton.

Armin watched as through the thick fog, he began to make out the shapes of… houses. Two things struck the boy as odd as the houses came into view. Firstly, they weren’t like the thatched roof cottages and manors back home, these were all short, stout, and made from timber, elm and cedar. They were squashed closed together, crammed and packed in like mud bricks, many of them sharing walls and roofs. It also seemed that they were in great need of some restoration, many of them were leaning or slanted, some with holes in the roof, or looking like they might give way and fall over at any moment. And secondly, these houses didn’t line the banks of the river, no, they rose from the waters themselves.

Coming out of the river was a maze of wooden shanties and shacks, patchworked roofs and chimneys bellowing smoke; and on the facade of every house was a dock. Weaving between all of them in fact, were wooden walkways and paths, ramps and bridges, boulevards and boardwalks, and all of them crisscrossed with canals great and small. At the sight of all this, the young boy was amazed. In awe, he turned his head to gaze down into the murky water, and saw that beneath every house, building, and dock were great wooden stilts driven deep into the bed of the river.

Armin had never before seen such a marvel of human ingenuity! A town in the middle of a body of water! He half expected to see the streets bustling with people, for surely such a feat would draw the attention of many from far and wide… but that was not the case. The paths were, more oft than not, empty, and the few people who did occupy them were dour, grizzled and cold. Many bundled themselves up in rags and bits of cloth, shivering in the cold air. When some of them saw Armin gazing excitedly at them from the boat, they quickly turned and walk back the way they had come.

“Folks here don’t take too kindly to outsiders,” the boatman answered the question he knew the boy would ask, “They’re decent folk, but they’re scared, and many of them are struggling.”

“Levi’s back!” came a shout from the bridge up ahead, “Did you have luck on your journey Levi?”

“Not a great amount I’m sad to admit,” the boatman, Levi, responded, “But you know I never come back empty handed!”

“Ha-HA!” barked the man on the bridge, “Bless you Levi! I don’t know what we would do without you!”

“People seem to like you around here,” Armin commented a few moments later.

“Well,” Levi replied, “People tend to like it when you bring them food when they’re starving. Trade doesn’t flow through these parts anymore, and I’m one of the few men left in this town with the skills the boat and the gaul to venture out there.”

“One of the few men left?” the golden boy asked, “you mean it wasn’t always like this?”

Levi sighed, “No, not always.”

Before he could continue his story, the port side of the boat knocked against the boardwalk. “Well here we are,” the gondolier said, stepping off the boat and securing it to the dock, “Come to the town square tonight, there’s to be a gathering of the townspeople, one of them will surely be able to take you where you need to go.”

“Thank you sir!” Armin said sincerely, stepping onto the wooden planks of Forkton.

That night, just as the boatman had said, everyone was gathered in front of the abandoned town hall around a great bonfire. To the young lad, the sight of a bonfire always meant merriment and joy, people laughing and dancing and cheering on Midsummer’s Eve. But here, there were no songs or dances; the people of the river were a melancholy one, and to them the fire only meant a warm place to huddle around. Armin found Levi in the center of the crowd, passing out what little food he had from the barrels and crates he had taken from the boat.

“These are dark times indeed,” he sighed morosely, “Once this place was filled with happy people with full bellies, back when Forkton was a place all would flock to from every corner of the land. In the old days, gold and jewels would flow down the highlands from the Dwarven Under-halls, wood carvings came from the elves, silks and spices from the east, apples and strawberries from the north, wheat and barley and rye from the west, and all manner of exotic goods from across the sea. Trade from all four corners of the world would pass through this place before heading someplace else, but they’d stop here and trade with us, and we grew rich because of it.”

“What changed?” the young boy asked softly when the older man began to drift into nostalgia.

When he heard these words, his face darkened. “The Dragon,” Levi whispered, voice thick with fear and anger, “That accursed wyrm came down from the north when I was no younger than you, it set Forkton and the great highland cities aflame; pillaging and plundering everything it could carry, destroying all it couldn’t, and devouring any who got in its way.” He turned his steely gaze up to the mountain, “Our town ruined, our traders, leaders, and citizens driven away in fear, those who stayed left to starve, all because of that calamitous beast!”

“Hush Levi!” called an old fisherwoman, “You no better than to speak ill of it! You could bring it back!”

Levi just sighed and shook his head, “Fishwives,” he muttered. He turned back to the golden boy listening intently, “The people here live in the shadow of the monster up Faraway Mountain, and are terrified and starving because of it. I go out in search of what little we can afford, but it’s never enough, people always go hungry.”

Armin gasped, fervently reaching into his pack to grab the basket the Baker’s wife had given him, “I have food to spare!” quickly he handed all the loaves of bread he was given to Levi, who began to break them up and pass them around.

“Is there any more?” Levi asked intently, bordering on excitement, “These people haven’t had such quality bread in weeks, any more would be a blessing to them!”

“I’m sorry but that’s all I-” the golden boy looked down into the empty basket, and his voice died on his lips, for he discovered that the basket wasn’t empty at all, but full to the brim with loaves and rolls and pastries. How was this possible? He had completely emptied it a moment ago, how was it full once more, and with things that were never given to him? Go forth from this place with my blessing. That was it! The Blessing of the Elven-King! He’d read about it in a book on myths and spells many years ago, there’s an old legend that says if you are blessed by the King of Plenty, then only plenty shall you know!

“Wait, yes!” Armin said, golden smile positively beaming, “I’ve lots more! Here!” he passed the basket to an elderly man to his right, “Take as much as you like and pass it around! There’s enough for everyone!”

At first he seemed confused, unsure how such a small basket could feed the entire town, but to his surprise, when he emptied it into his lap and flipped it right-side-up again, it was filled to the brim once more!

“Bless the stars! The boy’s right!” He passed the basket on and dug into his meal of bagels, baguettes, and baked goods. A confused muttering rose in the crowd, as everyone began to look on and watch as the everflowing basket was passed from one man to the next. The muttering rose in cheers and exclamations of joy, as one by one they whooped and laughed and cried at the meals they were all to receive. When the basket returned to his hands, Armin saw that everyone in the town was feasting and talking happily, joy and laughter in their eyes for the first time in what was undoubtedly a long time.

“You’ve done this town a great service Armin!” said Levi, a hint of a smile on his lips, “On the morrow my friend Hanji will take you a ways up the Sapphire River and get you as close as you can to the mountain.”

And the next morning he did, but not before a long night of singing and storytelling, music and dancing, feasting and merrymaking, laughter and joy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any similarity this story has with The Hobbit does not exist, they are completely different, and not at all the same, even in the slightest. Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! The next chapter will hopefully be up on Monday the 16th! Thanks again, and if you liked it please leave a kudos or a comment here or on my tumblr, eremine.tumblr.com


	4. Part IV - A Cautionary Tale from a Helpful Bargeman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Guess what's not dead! THIS FIC! I suddenly felt the need to write and decided I should apply that need to the fic I haven't updated in... 5 months... Oops.  
> Oh well, what's done is done. Sorry if this chapter is a little short or rushed, I just wanted to get it finished. I can't count how many times I revised it before I eventually gave up and decided to cut out the whole section all together. If anyone is interested, it involved Armin travelling through the Underhalls of the Dwarves, meeting the beardless duo Connie and Sasha, the beautiful Dwarf-Queen Historia and her skinchanging bodyguard Ymir, and once again, Armin solved everyone's problems for them. It wasn't important in the grand scheme of things anyway.  
> Thank you for sticking with this for so long, and don't worry, the next chapter will be coming soon!

When the sun rose the next morning, it rose on a town still slothful and cathartic from their full bellies and deep sleeps the night before. The fishermen and the boatmen awoke, and with a great yawn and a rub to the eyes, they lazily began the day’s work. like wading through the marsh, the townsfolk meandered about their daily business.The only one who seemed to be truly awake was Armin; for him, all it took was the light of the sun to feel revived and refreshed, and soon he was skipping down the canalside wharfs looking for his ferryman. He did not have to look very hard.

On the east side of town, towards the Sapphire River, was great oaken barge; easily twice as long and three times as wide as Levi’s gondola, and on its stern was its captain, jumping and waving excitedly, calling out for the young boy. “Ho there!” they called, voice far too loud and too chipper for this time of the morning, “Where be the lad I am to provide safe passage to the mountain?”

“You must be Hanji,” Armin said, delighted he had found the bargeman so easily.

“Indeed I am! And you must be Armin!” they replied just as excitedly as before. Armin was surprised how lively and spirited they were compared to other bleak and sullen townspeople, and got the impression that they were not the run-of-the-mill riverman. He hoped that had not made Hanji feel unwelcome. “Climb aboard my boy! You have quite a journey ahead of you!”

At their eager insistence, the golden boy clambered onto the deck of the ship, and watched with peculiar fascination as its captain stepped down from the stern. Instead of taking their place at the rudder or the main-sail, Hanji walked to the bow and took up what seemed to be a pair of leather reins. “Mush!” they shouted with a flick of their wrist, and sure enough, the barge began to cast off.

Surprised to say the least, the curious young lad quickly bounded across the deck and leaned over the railing at the front of the ship. He gasped, eyes bulging from his head, as he saw that down in the water were a pair of enormous snakes. “Wow!” Armin exclaimed, “are those Great Northern River Serpents?”

At the golden boy’s enthusiasm, Hanji laughed. “That they are lad!” they barked, “Quite a rarity this far south aren’t they? I found them trapped in a fisherman’s net up the river a few years ago, we’ve been inseparable ever since!”

Ever the curious boy, Armin watched on eagerly as the beasts snaked and slithered their way through the roaring waves. A silver fish swam past in the opposite direction, but it was gone with one quick snap of the River Serpent’s jaws.

“HA! Nice one Bean!” Hanji cheered. They gazed up at the sky as the grey morning curtain was rolled back and the light of the sun shone down on them. They inhaled deeply, savouring the morning’s beauty, “Ah,” they sighed, “Thank the Sisters! It’s going to be a good day, I can feel it!”

Armin looked up at the bargeman quizzically. “The Sisters?” he asked, “Who are they?”

“Why my boy!” Hanji said, almost shocked, “The Sisters Maria, Rose, and Sina! They are the old watchers the land, praising the good hearted and punishing the wicked! Do not tell me you haven’t heard of The Sisters.”

“No,” Armin said, shaking his head, “Never, can you tell me of them?”

“Oh, I most certainly can young lad! I shall tell you one of their most famous legends!”

As the words pricked his ears, Armin stared up at the bargeman, eyes aglow. Armin loved stories, just as he loved music; be they ballads of bravery, epics of tragedy, or cautionary tales, he’d never miss the chance to hear the yarn spun. Hanji tied the reins to the railing, content to leave the Serpents to their business, and began their tale:

***

_“Long ago, in a great castle high up on a hill, whose walls have long since crumbled and its name forgotten, there lived a prince. This prince was no older than a boy and had not yet come into his throne, and often he would watch the commonfolk children from his window, envious of them as they ran and skipped and played, always together, laughing and prancing without a care in the world._

_You see, the prince was very lonely; his mother passed away when he was young, and his father, still stricken with grief and busy with affairs of state, had no time for the child. All he wanted, more than anything in the world, was a friend, someone to play with him, to tell him stories, to spend time with him and care for him. He tried to ask the guards, but none of them would listen; he tried to ask the servants, but they were always too busy; he wanted to go ask the other children, but he wasn’t allowed to leave the castle._

_And so, instead he turned to the things around him to help him ease his pain, but as anyone can tell you, no amount of wealth and gold can heal a broken heart. But the prince did not know this, and so every time he tried, he failed, and every time he failed, he tried again. In the end, the only thing that changed was how much the prince began to ask for._

_Nothing would ever satisfy him, he needed more! More toys! More food! More clothes! And when he grew older, he needed more gold, diamonds, rubies, sapphires, silver, pearls, steel! Over time, his need became desire, and his desire became greed, envy, and hubris. His heart, in his attempt to fill its emptiness, had become spoiled, wicked, twisted, and black. He no longer cared about anything but himself, and never did he treat anyone with decency or respect._

_So great was his hunger, that the commonfolk, the people he was entrusted to care for, were poor and starved, while he lived in the lap of luxury. Any time the people came to him and asked for anything, he would scream and wail and cry, and act like a child. His people grew to hate him, and all throughout the land he was known as The Rotten Prince._

_One stormy night, the prince awoke to a knocking at the castle door. When he went to answer it, he found that it was a trio of ugly, old crones, huffing and puffing from exhaustion. “Please Your Majesty,” they asked in weak, wheezing voices, “It’s so cold and we are so hungry, might you let us stay for a while to get out of the cold and wet, and fill our bellies with a nice, hot meal?”_

_Upon hearing this, the young prince sneered at them, “NO!” he yelled at them, just as he had yelled at so many others, “You can’t have anything! It’s MINE! All MINE!” he shoved the old women out and slammed the door. But as he turned to go back up to bed, the doors were flung open and the castle was bathed in light. At the doorway, instead of wizened old crones, stood three towering women, glowing and shimmering. The Three Sisters, Maria, Rose, and Sina._

_The Rotten Prince dropped to his knees before them, crying and pleading for mercy. “Foolish boy,” Sina said, “You think that just because you are a prince means you are more important than your people?”_

_“Your greed has made you blind to the suffering of others,” said Rose, “For while you amass your baubles and trinkets, your people die in the streets.”_

_“Upon your kingdom and upon your heart, we place this curse,” said Maria, “No longer will you be a prince, but a monster to match your monstrous heart! You shall know no peace, your desire never dampened, your hunger never sated, your greed never satisfied. Your kingdom shall fall into ruin, and your people will be freed from your tyranny. Through selfishness you shall be sustained, but by selflessness shall you be freed.”_

_She stretched forth her arm and placed her spell upon the boy. He pleaded for forgiveness, but it was far too late. When the curse was done, the monstrous prince destroyed his castle, tearing it apart brick by brick, and disappearing into the night._

_And from that day forth, everyone knew, never to be selfish, and always to be selfless._

***

By the time their tale was finished, the sun was high in the midday sky, and the barge was docked on a small pier. “This is the end of the road, I’m afraid,” Hanji said, pointing at the nearby river bend, “From here the waters flow east and far away from the mountain, it’s as far as I can take you.”

“Thank you for taking me this far!” Armin said, bowing to his kindly ferryman as he stepped onto the dock, “Goodbye Hanji!”

“Goodbye Armin!” they shouted back as they began to make their way back down the river, “I wish you the best of luck on your quest!”

The golden boy waved farewell, before turning on his heel, and began the last leg of his journey towards the mountain.

The highlands leading up to the Faraway Mountain were different from the lands around his village; they were not filled with rolling hills and green pastures, but were made up of steep hills and rock formations, deep ravines and tall spires. Occasionally a small and scraggly tree grew amidst the cracks in the rocks, but apart from that, the land was cold and barren. As he continued Armin saw that it had gotten darker. The sun was hidden behind a whiff of cloud, he thought, nothing out of the ordinary, but as he looked up he saw that he was wrong. Bellowing from the mountain was a plume of thick black smog, spewing outwards, covering the sky in a heavy blanket. This land had not seen the sun in a very long time.

He continued to climb. As the land got steeper, rose higher, and the rest of the world fell away, he kept climbing. He eventually came upon a road, winding and rocky, leading all the way to the peak. As he climbed, he passed through many towns and villages, passed by shacks and cottages, all abandoned. No one had lived here in a very long time, none brave enough to live in the shadow of a Dragon.

As the sun began to set and the twilight took over, he made it. Close to the peak, the land opened wide like a set of great jaws, waiting to swallow any who entered carelessly. The Dragon’s Lair.

Standing on the precipice, Armin turned, gave the world one last look, before walking through, letting the darkness envelop him, wondering if this was the last time he would ever see the world again.

 

 


End file.
